


A Month at the Bellevue

by fix0red



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Brothels, Elves, F/F, F/M, Half-Elves, Human, M/M, Multi, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:02:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26737816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fix0red/pseuds/fix0red
Summary: Artair Penderghast III, the sheltered son of Lord Penderghast, is scandalized by the public solicitations of a half-elf sex worker named Brena. When he storms into her place of employment to demand compensation, he inadvertently tumbles into a world of kinky delights that draws him in deeper with every successive visit. But all is not what it seems at the Bellevue...
Kudos: 3





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Midnight : Nix and Len](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26679094) by [Ravensdelight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravensdelight/pseuds/Ravensdelight). 
  * Inspired by [Dungeons and smut](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26103730) by [Ravensdelight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravensdelight/pseuds/Ravensdelight). 
  * Inspired by [DnD Request fics / Shorts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26214040) by [Ravensdelight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravensdelight/pseuds/Ravensdelight). 



> _A Month at the Bellevue_ began life as a Kinktober story challenge based on [31 kinky writing prompts](https://twitter.com/ravensdelight/status/1301615610376400898) issued by Ravensdelight via Twitter. While the story borrows several characters, locations and plot elements from Ravensdelight's works—in particular, the Bellevue and its enigmatic madam, Lydia—it is not intended to be canonical. It also takes enormous liberties with the underlying Dungeons & Dragons framework, but the less said about that, the better.
> 
> Originally, I'd hoped to publish a series of loosely connected short stories for every day of Kinktober. When I realized the location of the Bellevue could serve as a framework connecting each of the writing prompts, however, something much larger (and more time-consuming) emerged. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it—your kudos and comments are highly appreciated!

Artair Penderghast III banged a pink, uncalloused fist on the heavy wooden door again. The female half-elf in his grip, all barbs and insults a moment ago, had gone quiet. At the end of the alleyway, a small crowd gathered in the rain to see what the commotion was about.  
“I demand redress!” Artair repeated. “Open up, or I will return with the constabulary!”  
A hatch in the door slid open at last, and a pair of dark eyes peered out. Artair quickly dragged the copper-skinned girl in front of the opening. “This wretch claims to be under your employ,” he seethed. “She solicited me for sexual congress, then tried to steal my coin purse when I declined!”  
The pair of eyes narrowed and disappeared behind the sliding hatch again. For a moment nothing happened, and it seemed as though Artair would be left standing in the rain. He drew a deep breath to continue his tirade—but then the door swung inward to reveal a swarthy male elf with jet-black hair.  
“Yeh?” the man asked, squaring his shoulders. “Wot you want from me then?”  
Heedless, Artair stormed past the elf and pulled the girl inside. “What manner of business do you operate, sir,” Artair exclaimed as he turned to face the man, “that you would allow… such…”  
His voice trailed off when he saw the elf’s hand resting on a sheathed dagger. The man was blocking the exit, and presently gave Artair a mischievous grin. Two silver teeth gleamed in the dim grey light of the vestibule.

“Is there a problem?” a voice behind them asked.  
Artair turned to catch the piercing green eyes of a tall, human woman. Her salt-and-pepper hair was done up in a tight bun, and she wore a tasteful black dress that contrasted starkly with the low-cut bodice and dirty yellow skirt of the girl. Artair relaxed somewhat at the sight of her; he was unaccustomed to dealing with ruffians, but the woman seemed more on his level. “I should say so, Miss…” he began.  
“You may call me Madam Lydia.”  
“Madam Lydia, you are the proprietor of, er...” Artair gestured about him, failing to remember what the girl had called it.  
“The Bellevue?” Lydia said “Why yes, indeed I am.”  
Artair thought he detected a slight southern lilt in her voice. “Very well then, I’ll cut right to the point. This little guttersnipe”—he grabbed a handful of the girl’s short, brown hair—“invited me to your establishment for sexual congress, and when I turned her down she tried to make off with my coin purse!”  
Lydia raised her eyebrows. She considered Artair’s statement for a moment, then leaned towards the girl. “Brena, is this man speaking the truth?”  
Artair could feel the girl shrink under Lydia’s venomous stare. “It was all a m-misunderstanding, Madam Lydia,” she stammered. “I just p-put my arm around him, and my hand b-brushed against his purse, and then he, he…”  
Artair scoffed in disbelief, but Lydia paid him no mind. “You know very well that soliciting in the streets is against Bellevue rules, Brena.”  
“I’m sorry, Madam, I—”  
“I demand redress!” Artair cut them off, his anger rekindled. “I should have her jailed! I should have you all sent to jail!”  
The elf by the door made towards Artair, but Lydia stayed him with a quick hand gesture. She briefly composed herself, and when she next turned to Artair the green in her eyes had taken on a more vibrant, enigmatic hue. “With all due respect, Mister…”  
“Penderghast,” Artair snapped. “Artair Penderghast, son of Lord Penderghast. I assure you, if my father catches wind of this your precious Bellevue will be closed for good.”  
Lydia remained unfazed. “With all due respect, Mister Penderghast, there’s no need for threats. Obviously, we’re deeply sorry for the offense Brena has caused. The Bellevue will do what is necessary to have your grievances redressed.” She opened the inner door and extended an arm towards the main hall. “Won’t you please come in to discuss the matter over a hot cup of tea?”  
An invitation was the last thing Artair had expected, and he couldn’t think of a proper way to excuse himself. “Erm, alright,” he muttered.  
“Splendid,” Lydia smiled. “Talim, please take Mr. Penderghast’s coat and have it dried by the fireplace. And send Corian to serve us tea on the parlor balcony. Brena, you will come with us.”

Artair was surprised by the imperial staircase adorning the main hall. The sober exterior of the Bellevue had suggested an old warehouse or a decommissioned armory, but someone had made a tremendous effort to give the interior a semblance of luxury. Artair followed Lydia up the carpeted steps to the second floor, while Brena trailed them at some distance.  
“For over thirty years, this establishment has prided itself on fulfilling the most intimate fantasies of its clientele,” Lydia said. “Our patrons come from far and wide, and the Bellevue goes to great lengths to maintain their trust - and their custom.”  
“You’re operating a brothel,” Artair remarked.  
“I prefer to call it a bordello,” Lydia responded, unperturbed. “But yes, we offer a space where the carnal desires of our patrons can be satisfied safely and discreetly, in exchange for coin.”  
Lydia came to a halt in front of an ornate door on the second floor landing. Artair could hear faint cries of merriment coming from the other side.  
“Now listen carefully,” Lydia warned as she produced a key from a small purse at her waist. “When you pass beyond this door, you will see things you have never seen before; things that may shock you; acts that may repulse you; pairings you may not condone of. However, it is imperative that you bear this in mind: consent is paramount to the services we render. Regardless of appearances, both our patrons and our employees are willing participants.”  
Artair half suspected that Lydia was trying to scandalize him, but the serious expression on her face made him reconsider. Venom had crept back into her green eyes, and he found he could not hold her gaze for long.  
“Do you understand, Mister Penderghast?”  
“I-I do.”  
“Splendid,” Lydia said again, and turned to unlock the door.

The door opened onto a balcony holding a single tea table and three chairs, which were arranged in a half-circle to offer a view of the entire parlor. Artair was overcome by several powerful sensations at once: a bouquet of perfume and tobacco seized up his throat, while his vision was assailed by the garish upholstery that covered nearly every surface in the room. Worse still was his immediate mortification upon witnessing so many lewd and unnatural acts in the parlor below.  
A dozen people cavorted about the room in various states of undress. Artair found it difficult to tell the patrons from the employees; he saw men groping women, women kissing women, men petting men. He saw humans mixing freely with elves and half-elves. He saw a tiny man—a dwarf? a gnome?—disappear beneath the ruffled skirt of a very tall lady, and he saw a woman with enormous breasts nurse two adult men. It did not escape him that both men were wearing matching pinafores.  
Flustered, Artair turned back to Lydia, who motioned for him to join her at the table. He quietly sat down beside her.  
“As I said, our services are rendered with the consent of our patrons and employees. No-one is harmed in the transaction—at least,” Lydia added with a wry smile, “no-one who does not wish to be harmed.”


	2. Spanking

Artair looked over at Brena who, he noted, had not been offered a seat at the table. The female half-elf, clothes and hair still wet from the rain, stood by the balustrade with her arms wrapped about her. She absent-mindedly stared at the scene below, seemingly unaffected by the debauchery on display.  
Lydia followed his gaze. “Ah yes, the girl. At the Bellevue it is our custom to provide extensive training to new employees, but I fear we’ve not yet managed to bridle Brena’s impulsive nature.”  
“That’s putting it mildly,” Artair sneered. “She came onto me in the middle of the market square, in broad daylight!”  
“I humbly apologize for her transgressions, Mister Penderghast. Have you given any thought as to your preferred form of redress?”  
Artair realized that he hadn’t. Brena’s actions had shamed and angered him so deeply that he found it difficult to even think beyond them.  
“I—I want—” he began, but just then the door to the balcony opened and a tall male elf carrying a porcelain tea set entered. Unlike the one Artair had encountered earlier, this elf was very pale, with light blonde hair and silver-grey eyes.  
“Here’s Corian with the tea!” Lydia said brightly. “Please be a dear and pour us some. Oh, and Brena?”  
Startled, Brena looked up from the balustrade. “Madam?”  
“Strip down to your chemise.”

Brena’s eyes were wide with surprise. She looked at Lydia, then at Artair, then back at Lydia, but the latter’s gaze told her that no mercy would be forthcoming. Reluctantly, she began tugging at the strings of her bodice. Artair watched the girl undress with conflicted emotions: on one hand he could scarcely believe that Lydia would order her to disrobe in public; on the other, he had grown intensely curious about what lay in store for the girl, and it was beginning to overrule his sense of propriety. He only became aware of his slack-jawed stare when he felt his mouth go dry.  
As if sensing Artair’s discomfort, Corian quickly placed a cup in front of him and poured a hot, fragrant tea. “Here you go, sir. Honeysuckle tea to quench one’s thirst and calm one’s thoughts.” He then proceeded to pour a cup for Lydia.  
“Thank you, Corian,” she smiled, taking her eyes off Brena. “Please have a seat next to Mr. Penderghast.”  
Corian gave a curt bow. “Yes Madam.”

It took Brena several minutes to strip down to her chemise, but in the end she managed to undo all the strings, hooks and buttons that held her rain-soaked garments in place. Timidly she stood beside the pile of clothing she’d discarded, unsure of what to do next. Lydia continued to sip from her tea without acknowledging the girl until, at length, she turned her attention back to Brena.  
“Lay yourself over Corian’s lap,” she said coldly. And then, in a much warmer tone: “You may support her head if you wish, Mr. Penderghast.”  
Artair wasn’t sure what was being asked of him until he saw the girl walk to Corian’s side, where she hesitantly bent over and placed her arms on the elf’s knees for support. She gave Artair a questioning look, as if seeking permission to touch him before depositing her head in his lap, but there was such trepidation in her brown eyes that Artair’s breath caught in his throat and he had to look away. She plopped her head down in his lap anyway, leaving him unsure of what to do with his hands. He looked to Corian for guidance, but was shocked to discover that the man had rolled up Brena’s chemise to expose her firm, round buttocks. One pale muscular arm was wrapped around Brena’s copper-toned thighs, holding her firmly in place.

“When you’re ready, Corian,” Lydia said.  
Corian’s face remained placid as he raised his free hand and swiftly brought it down. It struck Brena’s left cheek with a smack so loud Artair nearly jumped. The girl in his lap sharply inhaled and squirmed for a moment, but didn’t dare protest. Artair barely had time to register a faint reddish handprint on the afflicted buttock before he saw Corian’s next blow land on Brena’s right cheek. This time the girl yelped and buried her face in Artair’s groin, as if to prevent herself from making any more noise. Mortified, Artair realized that he was becoming aroused by this predicament.  
Corian continued attacking Brena’s buttocks with firm, flat-palmed blows that alternated between her cheeks. If he heard the squeals and moans coming from Artair’s lap he paid them no mind, establishing a relentless rhythm that caused the flesh of her buttocks to jiggle with every strike. Artair was transfixed by those buttocks; he had half a mind to reach out and touch them, to squeeze them, to feel if the crimson hue that now spread over each cheek was hot to the touch. With every blow Brena was driven more firmly into Artair’s lap, until he was quite certain she could feel his hardness. His hands wandered to her short, brown hair—but then he remembered that Lydia was sitting right next to him. He quickly glanced in her direction, hoping that his lapse in composure had gone unnoticed. The amused expression on her face told him otherwise.

“Aren’t you going to finish your tea, Mr. Penderghast?” Lydia asked between sips, as though nothing out of the ordinary was occurring before them. Artair meekly looked at his cup, then back down at the girl. “I’m afraid I’d spill some on the poor wretch,” he replied.  
“Hmm, that wouldn’t do,” she smiled. “Very well then. Corian! You may stop now.”  
“Yes, Madam,” Corian said, stopping mid-swing. In his lap Brena ceased squirming, though her breathing remained rapid for a few minutes. She made no attempts to right herself or cover her exposed rear, and Artair feared that she might have fainted. Then she turned her head to one side, and Artair noticed her eyes were open. Her face was flushed, and a thin sheen of perspiration was visible by her temple, but she seemed lucid.  
At last a sense of relief came over Artair. His demands for redress had been met, albeit in a peculiar fashion, and he would soon be free of this strange woman and her coterie of sinners. As for the girl—well, it was hard to stay mad at her after such a thrashing. The memory of Brena’s misdeeds paled in comparison to the punishment he’d just witnessed.  
Relaxing somewhat, Artair picked up his cup and drank, letting the warm brew soothe his parched throat.  
“Corian, I want you to take Brena out to the courtyard, strip her naked, and put her in the pillory,” Lydia said sternly.  
Artair nearly spat out his tea.

Brena struggled against Corian’s powerful grip as he dragged her to her feet.  
“No! Have mercy, Madam!” she cried. “Not the pillory!”  
“Please do not bother on my behalf,” Artair said, rising out of his chair and nearly knocking over his teacup. “I feel adequately compensated for—”  
“ _You_ may feel compensated, Mr. Penderghast, but Brena also needs to atone for breaking the rules of the Bellevue,” Lydia interjected. “We have strict policies against employees soliciting in the streets, both for their own safety and ours. The girl must be made an example of.”  
Artair stood helplessly as he watched Corian open the balcony door and push Brena through. He felt a sudden pang of guilt as he realized his culpability in the cruelties she had incurred—and the ones that lay in store for her.  
“Please sit down, Mr. Penderghast,” Lydia said in a soothing tone. “Shall I have Talim bring us fresh tea?” She gestured towards the door, which Corian had left open; in its frame Artair could see the raven-haired elf, who had apparently stood guard all this time.  
“That-that won’t be necessary,” Artair answered as he slunk back into his seat.


End file.
